


honey-gold

by firewoodwander



Series: for the discord, from the discord [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodwander/pseuds/firewoodwander
Summary: Dogma hums to himself as he sits on the living room floor unwinding coils and coils of fairy lights. Some are multicoloured, some are blue, some are even pink, but his favourite ones, as simple as they are, are the long strands they have of warm white. The ones that glow a yellow-amber that always reminds him of soft blankets and warm hands and even warmer, beautiful honeyed eyes.
Relationships: Dogma/CT-5385 | Tup
Series: for the discord, from the discord [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017124
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	honey-gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Parkkrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parkkrys/gifts).



> Gift 2 for the [Clone Haven server](https://parkkrys.tumblr.com/post/638592003023716352) gift exchange! I was absolutely ecstatic to receive these sweethearts as a prompt, oh my goodness. I adore them, I really do, and I feel like I got a little carried away, but hopefully you'll still enjoy, my love!

“We don’t have to,” Tup says suddenly. He wrings his hands together as Dogma considers the two cardboard boxes he’s unearthed from the tiny, crowded attic above their flat. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to—”

“Tup.” Dogma steps over a box and peers up into his face. He looks calm, somewhat amused, even, when he takes Tup’s hands in his and slips their fingers together to curl over their knuckles. “Just because I don’t do _Christmas_ does not mean I don’t want to spend time with you putting up all the pretty things I know you love. It’s hanging some tinsel on the wall, not making me participate in dinner and… whatever else it is people do.”

Tup rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and tilts his head when Dogma brushes away a stray strand of hair with their linked hands. “I just… I don’t want you to feel you have to.”

Dogma smiles slightly and tugs him down to sit on the floor, curled towards each other and knee-to-knee.

“Do you know how much I loved going to your house to see you when it got to December?” he asks. Tup lifts a brow to look at him from under his lashes. “I did. I loved it. The later it got, the more everything was pretty and warm and nice. And my favourite part—lucky, I think, considering how much time we spent there—was your room. You’ve collected so many things over the years, and it was always covered with—”

“Lights,” Tup murmurs. “It was always covered in lights. I knew you liked them.”

Dogma squeezes their hands. “I did. It seemed… fitting. I think I… I think…”

Tup strokes a thumb over the back of his hand. “What is it?”

 _“I think I fell in love with you in that room,”_ comes out all in a rush, a voice small with embarrassment, colour rising to Dogma’s face as he stares fixedly at their feet. Tup feels his own cheeks flush with prickling warmth, bubbles rising in his chest that make him beam. “Lying on your bed with you, in-in the dark, there was that string of golden ones you had on the ceiling, and you looked so pretty when we turned out all the lamps and lay there with all the reflections glittering in your hair.”

“You know I did it for you, right?” Tup says. If he focuses he can feel his old mattress and sheets at his back, the radiating warmth of Dogma’s hand resting mere millimetres from his own and yet feeling that distance as keenly as if it were miles. Wanting to reach out and tangle their fingers like they are now, wanting to roll over and kiss the starry-eyed look from his face but never having the courage to ask. His best friend, warm and sparkling under the fairy lights. “I…” he swallows down the lump of nostalgia that forms in his throat. “You always looked so relaxed. Happy. I would think about you when I put them up.”

Dogma leans forward and presses their lips together, just a chaste kiss, cute and sweet, and still it has Tup’s heart fluttering like he’s seventeen again and pining. The way his scruff grazes Tup’s skin makes him shiver and melt all at once, just like it always does. Tup squeezes his hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

“Then come on. Let’s start with the lights.”

Of course, Dogma puts up a minimal protest when Tup puts on the Christmas songs. Tup knows he doesn’t mind—not when he can see him swaying along out of the corner of his eye—and Tup quite adores it too when he can grab Dogma’s hands and waist as he’s walking by and twirl him around the room to all his favourite songs. But the lights go up, and then the tinsel, as Dogma said, and Tup finishes it with little glittery stars and snowy pinecones he hangs from whatever is hook-like enough to take them. There’s a candle holder with a forest deer pattern on the coffee table, and Dogma is just inspecting the label on the candle when Tup finally brushes off his hands.

“Orange and cinnamon?” he asks. He frowns at the thing before lifting it and sniffing cautiously. “Is that supposed to work?”

“Don’t you like it?” Tup smiles. The empty boxes are kicked aside and he falls onto the sofa with a huff of breath, watching out of one eye while Dogma lights the candle and stares at it with suspicion.

“It’s surprisingly not bad.”

“There, see?” Tup rolls onto one side and holds his arms out to his boyfriend. “Now come on, I’m cold!”

Dogma frowns again and makes towards the thermostat, abandoning his candle and Tup, who pouts. “Cold? I can get you a jumper if you want? The heating was on not long ago…” 

“Dogma,” Tup says. He lifts his arm up again. “I meant I want hugs.”

A soft look passes over Dogma’s expression. He turns back to Tup fully, his lips tilted in a lopsided smile, and reaches to take his hand. 

“Sorry, cyare. I can do that too.”

“Good,” Tup smirks, pulling him down onto the sofa. He lands heavy in Tup’s arms and quickly rearranges himself, pressing him back into the cushions and covering him with his weight. Tup pushes his nose into Dogma’s neck and allows himself to be cuddled.

“Thank you for today,” he murmurs into his skin. 

Dogma hums and tangles his fingers in the lengths of Tup’s hair. “I already said it’s perfectly fine, there’s no need to thank me.”

“No,” Tup says, grinning with giddiness just at the memory. “Telling me about it. When you fell for me.”

The arms around Tup’s waist and back tighten momentarily, hugging him closer to Dogma’s chest. “I wanted to,” he mutters. “You deserve to be loved.”

Tup bites down on his smile and plays the fleece of Dogma’s hoodie between his fingers. “You never let me forget.”

“Exactly.”

For a minute all is quiet, just the thump of Dogma’s heart under Tup’s ear and the even rise and fall of his chest. Tup snuggles even closer into him and buries his nose in his neck, the beloved smell of him mingling with the sweet spice of their steadily-burning candle.

“Hey,” Dogma says gently, nudging his shoulder just as he’s on the verge of dropping into a doze. “I have something to show you.”

“Hmm? Do I have to move?”

He chuckles. “Well, it’d be a darn sight harder bringing it to you.”

“Could always move the sofa with me on it.”

With a snort, Dogma slips down to kneel on the floor and leans in to drag a careful knuckle over Tup’s cheek. “Come on, cyare. I want you to see this.”

Tup rouses and blinks his eyes open to return Dogma’s smile. He stretches, yawns, and holds out his hands in a silent request to be carried. 

“Oh come on, you lazy arse. Up you get.”

 _“Fine,”_ Tup sighs, though he levers himself up happily enough. He takes Dogma’s hand and lets him guide him out, through their freezing fucking airlock of an entrance hall and to their bedroom door. Dogma stops with his hand on the handle and—

“Close your eyes,” he says. Tup nods and holds a hand over his closed eyes, pursing his lips in quiet excitement. He’s guided into the room and positioned somewhere in the middle of the small floor. He hears the door click shut behind him, Dogma moving around, another soft click, and then warm hands landing back at his waist.

“Can I open them?” he asks.

Dogma laughs, gently pulling the hand away from his face. “Yes, yes you can look.”

When Tup opens his eyes again, he isn’t at first sure _quite_ where he is at all. The room is dark—blackout curtains pulled tight and pinned for full effect—except for the dozens upon dozens of hovering, glowing golden twinkles that arc from wall to wall across the ceiling, bathing everything in soft light.

“Oh,” Tup breathes. He steps forward and tips his head back to stare up at them, his fingers brushing the fluffy throw blanket over the foot of the bed before he sinks down onto it. _“Dogma.”_

“Is it good?” he asks. “I did it right, didn’t I?”

“It’s _wonderful.”_

The bed dips as Dogma joins him. He lies back, lets their thighs brush, hears the sigh that leaves his boyfriend’s lips as he settles. Their fingers, inches apart on the covers, meet in the middle and curl together.

“Thank you,” Tup tells him eventually. The bed is soft, Dogma’s warm and sleep calls to him, but he stares up at the pattern of stars swirling above his head, not wanting to lose this feeling he never thought he’d have again. 

Well, he supposes it’s not quite the same as it used to be.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, rolling onto his side to gaze lovingly into Dogma’s eyes.

“Of course,” Dogma breathes. “I didn’t know if there was a-a pattern, or anything, so I did my best.”

“How many years has it been since we last did this? It’s beautiful, ner cyare. Really.”

Dogma smiles. “I’m glad you like it.”

Tup leans down to kiss him. Dogma’s mouth is soft and pliant, and he kisses like every one might be his last; it sends a shiver down Tup’s spine, a small noise catching in his throat when he lowers himself onto Dogma’s chest, indescribably grateful for every moment they’ve had leading up to this. Them.

“You don’t know how happy I am that I can do this with you,” he says once they part, breathless and heart aching. Dogma reaches up to hold his face again, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and grinning. The fairy lights shimmer in his eyes, make his gaze fall softly, so _softly,_ it makes Tup weak.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here on [tumblr!](https://firewoodwander.tumblr.com/)


End file.
